


Stardust is falling from the sky

by blueberry_absinth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddles, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and cuddles, yayy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberry_absinth/pseuds/blueberry_absinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was as if something in the air was making the two of them more emotional, more careless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stardust is falling from the sky

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr.  
> For the prompt “The rain on the Storm Coast” (or something along the lines of it, can’t find the original ask hehehe). The fic kinda slipped and ran away and got very very big but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :3

The Storm Coast was damp, rainy, moist, sticky and soggy and Solas hated it.

At least he was not the only one. 

Cole’s voice had formed an old rhyme when he saw the sea and one had to wonder if it was his first time seeing the sea. On the other hand, Dorian decided it was the best time to acquaint the party with his little secret – seasickness. Even if he did seem a bit more at ease among the humidity than expected. This Tevinter must have strange weather. 

Their dear Inquisitor looked like she had taken a few lessons for scowling from Cassandra: that seemed to be her permanent expression. He knew she hated forcing them into this mission. A lot of problems had arisen in the Storm Coast, and while they had been busy with other matters, they had piled up in this place impaired of proper weather.The best guerrilla team was needed and they proved to be the fastest and deadliest. 

Their combination was of the high-risk, high-reward types. He would blow heads off with pure fade magic or freeze as many of their enemies as possible, paving the way for Emma’s heavy hammer blows and Cole’s fast strikes to shatter their bodies. Dorian was there to keep their melee fighters from being overwhelmed and to inflict his terrors.

It was efficient, however much Solas did not agree to the other mage’s methods, nor to the path Emma was thinking of taking up.

However, their current worst enemy was the Coast itself and the dreary mood that sucked their vigour away as the drizzle continued to patter on their helmets. 

They had come across the radical human religious group the Blades of Hessarian, but their patience had not lasted enough to find out that there was a way to broker peace between them. 

Not knowing of the existence of the Mercy’s crests, they had wiped out the Blades’ main camp. Although needlessly killing these people had appeared to shake Emma, she wanted to keep going, mindless of the distance they had to cover to reach the caves they had to seal, and the waning sun, pale and weak behind the blanket of clouds. 

Instead of setting up the Inquisition camp, they cut right through the forest and with that the last mistake was made.

Nevertheless, they continued on. Solas was hoping they could find a better place to find shelter, but of course, they did not.

Once Dorian started sniffling, however, he decided to take matters in his own hands. 

“Inquisitor, we can’t go on!” she was at the front of the line, so he had to raise his voice a bit. 

She did hear him, and turned, catching him in her stare. Her eyes that enthralled him so much were a curious shade of violet now, the blue in the iris glistening in this light. They could pierce a person as harshly as her axe tore through armour. 

After what felt like an eternity of the sweetest dreams, she glanced at Cole and Dorian, who, to be fair, looked like a pair of miserable puppies. 

“But we are at the middle of the forest?” she enquired, like pressing forward would be preferable to stopping and having a rest. 

“Which is great, isn’t it,” Dorian added in his quick snarky tone which screamed about all his troubles, “There are trees, and herbs and potentially dangerous wildlife, oh, and the trees will absolutely protect us a bit from the rain! Lovely place for a picnic!”

“We have limited camping equipment―”

“Doesn’t matter, we can bunk up. Personally, I prefer to hide away from the rain before I liquefy and lose my good looks. I like humidity but not that much!”

“My nose is sad. It is cold and wet and it is crying. How do I make it stop crying?” Cole mumbled mostly to himself.

She levelled the three of them for a second, before shrugging. 

“Your decision.” 

It did not take them long to set up a tiny version of an Inquisition camp. Emma had done that all her life, Cole was a quick learner and unnaturally fast, and that meant that the rain did not get the chance to wiggle its way in the inside of the tents.

They had two tents, a tiny version of the potions table and a small Inquisition flag which they didn’t put up.

She took a look around them, assessing the situation, then sighed. Dorian was definitely going to get sick. Same went for Cole, depending on how different his case was from other spirits.  

“Solas will come help me get some herbs and I’ll make you some tea which will make you feel better. Meanwhile, get some water and get a fire going.”  
Dorian’s face lit up like a child creating magic for the first time. 

“Keep it small and inconspicuous and not big enough to cook a whole great bear.”

Dorian’s face fell as quickly as his smile had shown up. 

Solas was too dignified to snort. So, he did not snort.  

“Anyway, we should be back right before you start to miss us.” 

“Ah, don’t worry, I do like watching you leave,” Dorian already had his back turned to them, turned just enough that a flair of his moustache could give away the smirk.   

“He doesn’t,” Cole mumbled from one of the tents, voice strangely muffled, “I miss my nose’s happiness. I wonder if I should talk to it.”

“I think you should let it cry it out,” Emma laughed and it was the sweetest sound he had heard in a while. 

They bid their teammates goodbye and moved on to descend to the place where Emma claimed they could find what she needed. His curiosity was piqued; what exactly was she looking for?  

A brisk pace engulfed them, and though companionable, the silence between them was telling of how taxing this endeavour had been on Emma. A crease had appeared between her eyebrows, and she was worrying her lips, too lost in thought to notice she was probably going to draw blood. That girl liked drawing blood way too much. 

“You need not blame yourself for our predicament,” Solas ventured slowly and carefully.  

“I had forgot you lacked the resilience of the Dalish warriors,” she scrunched up her nose and glared up to the sky, not even breaking from her trance-like thoughtfulness “The clan has to move regardless of most weather, and we are always at the front. I’ve fought in some pretty nasty conditions and I’m used to anything by now. I’m also your leader. Yet, I’m the one who pushed forward now, despite the fact that it was obvious Cole and Dorian were getting sick. Who else should I blame?” 

“No one. You led us and we followed, mindless to the facts. Those who follow need to keep their leaders to account. We are as much to blame as you are.To dwell on our mistakes would only prove to be more destructive to our original plan.”

She glanced at him, undoubtedly sizing him up. Her hair was plastered to her skin, her eyes shone a dewy violet and her cheeks burned tomato red from the rain and the wind.

A quiet cough left his mouth. 

“Anyway, I think that’s the place,” she said once they reached a clearing where the creek mellowed down and enlarged its riverbed. It was true that various herbs dotted the banks.

Solas let her pick the first plants herself before joining her. His past in Arlathan did not agree well to his current hermit persona. Whatever knowledge he possessed of herbs had long become outdated, as plants evolved, changed, adapted better. Learning by imitation was easy and fast however. 

Luckily, there was still enough light to go around for them to look for the right leaves. It also meant it could serve as a means for Solas to find another distraction. 

Emma would have to kneel to get a hold of the herbs she wanted and by doing so, she offered him many angles from which his blasted well-developed peripheral vision could pick up certain sights and push them in the front of his consciousness. Goodness, he was nothing more than a letch.

The rain had soaked through all of their clothes and had them plastered over their bodies. The end of her velvet overcoat was dangling limply between her legs and offered zero protection against the wind and the pattering rain. His strongest wish right at that moment was to have her somewhere dry and under a blanket away from the harsh weather. Possibly with him.

Metal-plated boots, legging and a flimsy shirt were the only other clothes on her. The water had soaked through the shirt, subtly emphasizing her curves and the outline of her breast bindings.  

He knew what fabric that shirt was made of, he had felt the texture before, smooth white silk, but wondered, that damned curiosity, what it would feel like wet against her skin, what it felt like wet against his skin, what it would feel like, his skin against hers. He hadn’t forgotten the kiss.  

Emma Lavellan was incredibly young even by quickling’s standards, even if she did show wisdom beyond her years. And he was a perverse old man, playing to be someone he was not, for the sake of righting wrongs that were his doing (even if the idea of righting them slowly became more and more unappealing and illogical). He had no right to want her in any way, even for a student.

Safe to say, she had her desired amount of herbs before he could even get half of what she had. Despite that, he still received a thank you that sounded so heartfelt it nipped at his insides. It was as if something in the air was making the two of them more emotional, more careless. 

He wouldn’t have that and kept a respectful distance from her on the way back, eyes trained on the choppy horizon.

Once they were back to camp, she set out to prepare what she had promised Dorian and Cole. Having nothing to do and no way to help her, Solas lingered around. Watching her work was captivating. 

On the battlefield she was a hurricane, an uncontrollable element that could happen to surprise her teammates. However, there was none of this rush and power in her movements now; it was with precision and slowness that she prepared this concoction of hers. 

Seeing the focus of her well-trained body dominated would be like most fascinating sight.

Only by the time she was finishing up did he recognize which recipe she was preparing. 

“Inquisitor, if I may…” he started and for some reason or another felt insecurity’s bite in his sides, “I think I know how to make this potion better.”

“You sure?” 

Solas nodded, throat suddenly dry. 

“Embrium makes one’s breathing easier and increases spindleweed’s effect.”  
She regarded him for a while and after a split second that felt like another eternity, she reached out and took the pouch he was holding up.

“I made so many bad decisions today, I might as well listen to someone else for a change.” 

He let out a breath he had not known he was holding and chuckled along with her delicate laugh. She truly was not like the other Dalish. She was open to new knowledge and knew better than to judge him based on his bare face. 

This sweet sentiment would one day destroy him. 

If only she knew what his decisions had brought about. Maybe she would not feel bad about hers.

Setting up the potion was the next step. The Dalish had done one good thing about this recipe, he had to give them that – instead of forcing the admittedly quite distasteful liquid down the patient’s throat, the potion was to be warmed up right before its boiling point and put close, so that the vapours of the healing mist could take care of a stuffed nose as well.

He made a mental note on that, careful not to linger on the developing sensation that maybe the Dalish are not that bad. 

It was easier to think they were wrong about everything. 

Emma put the potion is a small bowl she had fished out of somewhere, and set about finding it a safe place in the tent. Once that was done, she explained to Dorian what he had to do in order for it to have the best effect – a simple fire rune, just to keep around the boiling point, and don’t even think about boiling the shit out of it.  

Her next words were a surprise to everyone, however. 

“I made only one potion so I’m gonna need you two together in the same tent, ok? I’m gonna share the other one with Solas.”  

Solas regarded her carefully, acutely aware of the tips of his ears burning. Her face was impassive. 

Maybe too impassive, in fact. 

“Inquisitor, are you sure?”

“Daisies and lilacs, serene smiles soft on her skin, crowns of flowers that bloom into clouds, the waves remind her of them, of talks two hours after midnight, of another time, quiet and innocent,” Cole murmured to himself and smiled slightly, as if sharing an inside joke with Emma; she grinned back at him, emotion softening her features, “No, we don’t mind that. Our noses will be happy too.”

Dorian glanced at Emma, then at Solas, looking like he had to turn wheels in his head that were centuries old. Although he looked like a wreck, nose already red and runny and puffy cheeks, he had his curious look on his handsome face, the one Solas hated to see outside conversations about magic. 

“I don’t even have the energy to make a lewd joke about this. Consider this an achievement,” once he reached his internal compromise, he waved a hand still with his ever present flair, turned around and marched into their tent. 

Cole padded lightly after him. 

Emma all but beamed. 

“Good night, boys! Make sure to get some rest, ‘cause we have some darkspawn to take care of tomorrow!”

A muffled groan came from the tent, and startled her into a laugh.

“That’s the spirit!”

Solas simply shook his head, smiling slightly at their antics, before entering the tent, heart tight in his chest. 

He knew she was going to go about their camp for a few minutes before turning in as well. That gave him some time to gather his wits. 

Once he was inside, he took out his bedroll as fast as possible and set about taking off his clothes. After a moment’s hesitation, he took off his undershirt as well, leaving only his pants on.   

As he was folding his numerous articles of clothing, he heard her come in, and paused for a second before pretending nothing was bothering him. 

He had never shared a tent with her. Usually she either bunked with another woman or with Cole whenever she had to. And now after their kiss… Nothing was the same. 

Wanting her in such a way was despicable. What Cole said just now still rang in his mind; most probably a memory of some night from back when she was with her clan. Regardless, his words carried a tune of innocence. And his mind, in all its decrepidness  wanted to pollute it. Had he not learnt from his mistakes?

Being this hyper aware of a person was impossible. And it was not her trace of the magic she did not possess, nor his, and it was not the sounds she made as she moved. Something far more grand was at play, something that could shake the very heavens and imprison gods with little more than a glance, and if he concentrated hard enough, maybe he could figure out what it tasted like and from then on he could—

“Solas, I hope you don’t mind that we’re sharing.” 

Her hesitant voice cut through his thoughts and startled him and, of course, he had to turn around at the exact moment to bear witness to the sight of her bare back, radiant and pale and tantalisingly close to touch.   

He had to swallow down. 

His body turned around faster than he thought possible and his hands busied themselves with his clothes.

“Not at all.”

Once he was done with putting his things in order, he heard her settle her bedroll, all with being a bit faster than him. He had not looked at her since that last time, mainly because he did not trust what he would do in such a case.      
However, right after he settled in his bedroll, he felt her presence again, this time much closer than before.

“Inquisitor?”  
Her title was supposed to put distance between them, at least between their minds, and distract him from the warmth on his back. It worked as well as he expected (and hoped).

“I’m sorry, I never—it’s just that I fall asleep like this. I mean, I fall asleep easier. Knowing that there’s someone else makes me feel, more at ease I guess?” she giggled nervously, and there was little more he wanted to do more than to get rid of all her lonely nights.  

“You are not alone.” 

He could feel her eyes following him in the dark. A subtle glow had coloured the walls of the tent. Modern elves had that quirk of enhanced night vision on the price of shiny eyes at least. Less than a minuscule price to pay for the loss of their culture. 

“It’s not that—“ she sounded like she bit back words and, “I’m sorry I bothered you, hahren. Good night.”  

And just as easily her warmth disappeared from his back. 

It was pathetic how much he missed it. 

She never used hahren when she talked to him. It sounded rigid and formal and grinded his ears. Maybe it was her own way of putting distance between them. 

Slowly he turned around and looked at her. In the darkness he could make out the outline of her arms and the whiteness of her shoulder blades, half of which were hidden by her bedroll. He wanted to see them fully bare.

The erratic rise and fall of her body showed she was not going to fall asleep any time soon and the glimmer in the tent evidenced to her open eyes. His previous decision to keep his distance from her became devoid of sense. 

He wanted to see her dominated, yet it was him losing his resolve.

No part of him, dutiful Fen’Harel nor wistful Solas, wanted her to be sad. For now he could take care of that. 

“Emma—“

A hand sneaked out from his bedroll and cautiously touched her bare shoulder. 

“Can I?”

Instead of giving him an answer, she turned around and wiggled her way between his arms like a small icy bomb. 

Solas hesitated only for a second, before pulling her further in, rubbing circles on her shoulders and stopping just short of burying his face in her hair. Her limbs were so cold, but her skin – smooth and kissable.

She was tiny and lean and real. 

And smiling against his chest. 

It would have been hard to bear if it was not so sweet. 

“I like how you are my portable fire rune.”

It was his turn to snort in laughter. She had called him hers. 

“I am glad you are getting warmer, lethallan,” he whispered against her hair, taking the advantage to catch the smell of her hair and commit it to memory, for the times when she would have inadvertently torn away from his life. _But she had called him hers._

Her lips formed a pout, and he took extra care not to think of how she was technically kissing him. In retrospect, maybe he should have kept his shirt on. 

The little rebellious voice in his head was triumphing though. 

Her hand sprawled over his chest, warm and tiny and rough-textured, followed by what he could only describe as a contented sigh, until her breathing evened out. She did fall asleep fast. 

Once Solas was sure she was asleep, he let himself the luxury of kissing the crown of her head, before slipping into the steps of a dance he knew all too well: walking the Fade.   

The morning found them in the same bedroll.


End file.
